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HOPE

HOPE

Today I sat a few meters away from the door
And saw night birth day out of dawn’s amniotic fluid
Like the naked flamed buttocks of the early rising sun
Emerging from the bedsheets of clouds
Something lit up inside me
Then the beats of my heart and the rhythm of my thoughts
Caused the hands of my emotions to fondle my heart
Finally, I can feel it within my reach
My thoughts blush as it walks down their street
Anticipation drools from the mouth of my woken expectation
Hope has just found another victim and has wrapped its beautiful arms around me
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Posted by on July 28, 2015 in Poems

 

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LOVERS’ MUSING

LOVERS’ MUSING

Accusation

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Yes! I have mad love for this guy

Rumor has it that he has been lying to me

The wise girls have advised me to stay off

But my heart loves the lies because the truth hurts

So I hear he has another lady and I am just a side chick

if so, then I am the perfect missing rib!

The darkness told me the reason why I only see him late at night is because he spends his day with his perfect chick

I heard her once as she passed by my window

She speaks impeccable English!

The scent of her perfume filled my room for about 30 minutes

I knew it was her because I always smell the perfume on him anytime he sneaks into my blanket after she leaves

The click of her heels proves without a doubt that she is strong

But as long as my baby has never mentioned her,

I choose to be pampered with his lies

He once promised to marry me

But since then, he has not mentioned it

Just last week, I heard the birds singing about the 1000 carat diamond ring he proposed with,

But he didn’t fail to touch my body the very night he got engaged

That night he kissed me hard like never before

So I don’t care if he buys her the whole world

I love that fear that stops him from telling me the truth

I know I am irresistible!

I don’t blame him!

That is why he can’t hurt me with the truth.

Keep whispering the lies deep inside my ears…

Let me feel your lying tongue

Let me see your desperate eyes fixed on my body

I want to feel the heat from your body burn mine with your lies!

Never speak the truth… don’t hurt me!

 

RESPONSE

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I’m no cheat, so I wonder why her mind would journey that far?

My heartbeat speaks the truth of what she means to me

So why will I pour bile on this delicacy of true love?

Truth be told, her inner beauty and strength makes it impossible

To find solace in another’s arms

Her physical beauty the song to which day and night dance to

The taste of my name on her lips each time she mutters it under her gentle breath

When we kiss is like fresh unleavened bread dipped in virgin honey on the lips of a hungry soul

It’s true I do have a friend who speaks impeccable English

And I do know her perfume is strong that it resurrects my asthma

But that is nothing compared to Nana Yaa’s lips that make speech blush

And eloquence lose its footing.

Does she for a second know how missing her feels like?

Water becomes tastelessly tasteless and my thoughts refuse to bloom

My heart beats squeal, squeak and the waters from my eyes’ fountains gash out

Yet orchid blossom of my love for her blossoms

So tell me what sort of man will pamper his soul with lies

And still make his heart feel the way I feel about her?

How can I buy her supposed rival the whole world when she, Nana Yaa is my whole world?

So now I fear she wouldn’t see the real essence of what we have.

How can she see past all these lies of the ‘wise’ when she allows her heart to be ruled by an irrelevant cacophony of questions she has the true answers to?

I wish I could quiet all her doubts created by rumors that are nothing but rumors

Gag all the anxiety she feels and let the silence of our love sing

Time is the cloth that binds us to the back of fate

And loyalty is the walking stick that makes our love walk steady.

Tell her she is the rhythm and melody to my music

The only mosquito in my net (please continue biting)

And without her I’m as useless as ‘eue’ without que in spelling QUEUE

 

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Written by Rita Nana Yaa Agyakwa & Selikem Kweku Tenu Geni. (c)

 

 
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Posted by on August 29, 2014 in Poems

 

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WORDS

WORDS

Let us get drunk today

Drunk on the words of our fathers’ echoing silence

Words that were spoken to them under the baobab tree by the fireside

Words that were sang by the warriors that that returned

Bruised and defiled by war of hearts

Words as sacred as the cries of a corpse

Words as priceless as the tears of our mothers when we were born

Words that glorify the beauty in ugliness of our fight for survival

Yes open your mouth and let them out

Like thousands of bees homing to a hive

Let our thoughts and emotions ferment

and let us brew these words within our beings

And speak them into being

For we are children of mother’s only husband

And we do not search for the dark fowl in darkness

PowerofWords

 
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Posted by on August 13, 2014 in Poems

 

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Agbenorxevi, ‘The Cat’ With Nine Lives

Agbenorxevi, ‘The Cat’ With Nine Lives

As the bus left the terminal in Accra, Agbenorxevi, could not help but wonder whether this trip was going to be his very last one or not. All through the journey he avoided eye contact with any of the other occupants of the eighteen seater bus by hiding his eyes behind his two inches thick tad dark tinted spectacles. Secretly in his heart, he blessed the man who invented them because he could see the eyes of the others when they looked at him yet they couldn’t tell whether he was looking back at them or not. To avoid the temptation of being drawn into any form of conversation, he turned up the full volume of his Walkman, that the lady seated beside him turned twice with an expression that asked whether he wanted to go deaf or was just plainly mad without even speaking those words which he thought was very diplomatic on her side. Somehow he caught her nodding and tapping to the Kojo Antwi tune blurring out of his headphones and this made him smile.

After almost eight years of self-imposed exile, it felt a little bit awkward heading back to Ho, the town in which he had grown up. His history in that town were as huge as the spear heads of giants poking out of the dead bodies of those decayed years that it was impossible for anyone who was new in town not to hear or know a little bit about the exploits of Agbenorxevi. When the bus got to ‘Kponvie’ police barrier, Agbenorxevi’s heart began to beat like the tick tocking of a 1956 malfunctioning omega engine wrist watch and his life in Ho began to roll on the wheel of his thoughts that it felt as though he was reliving it. He could feel his body stiffen as the policeman scanned through the vehicle and stared at him for more seconds than he had stared at the other occupants. He could feel a sting in his conscience that made him nearly surrender himself to the emotions swelling up within him. He knew his goatee and the glasses he wore somehow made him look suspicious but these policemen were used to seeing people dressed like him come from Togo and Niger in search of a better life in Ghana and so felt a little bit secured. Moreover his appearance had changed over the years.

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He was not born with a wooden spoon in my mouth for if that were to be the case it would have been a major blessing and the undoing of all the . He was told his mother was a mentally retarded woman who got impregnated by Mr. Nobody. Not wanting to sound blasphemous though, he could count the number of times as a child he had bragged that aside Jesus Christ, he was the only miracle baby conceived by a virgin mother. The only difference between Jesus and I was that, instead of an angel visiting and informing his mother about conceiving him, it was a shameless and ruthless he-goat of a man who decided to rape her, hence my coming into this world. As he grew older, he realized that his mother gave birth to him in the huge gutter along the market like a goat and died shortly afterwards since she had no one, What even sank Agbenorxevi into the base of self-pity and disillusionment was the fact that his mother’s family wanted nothing to do with a bastard conceived by a lunatic. He was also told that initially he was left in the gutter unattended to so he could die because he was considered an abomination but after six hours of starvation and his defiance to live, some of the youth around the market decided to stone him to death with his crime being that he was conceived by a mad woman. It took the intervention of some catholic nuns who run an orphanage to save him from them.

Growing up at the orphanage was hell on earth, not that he had been to hell before but based on the passion with which the nuns described it to them, a bigger proportion was synonymous to hell. Agbenorxevi experienced at first-hand what real bullying was. His first encounter was when he chanced upon Maxwell the oldest boys at the orphanage smoking ‘sigliku’. At age four he was already the bottom of all jokes and name calling and so catching Maxwell was a plus for him. He tried to blackmail Maxwell by threating to report him to Sister Maria, the no nonsense nun that even the Brother who was the head of the orphanage stutter like the sound of a chain of flatulence let out from a man with severe running stomach. Instead, his threat earned him a bloody mouth and Maxwell accusing him of smoking ‘sigliku’. That evening, Sister Maria made sure extra pepper was added to Agbenorxevi’s soup and one could hear ‘usuuuuuush husssuuuuh’ like the last loud coughs of the engine of the converts corn mill before it comes to a halt. From then onwards every little thing was blamed on him especially by Sister Marie. Sister Marie was very petty in structure but what she lacked in the physical seemed to have multiplied in her character. Among the kids of the orphanage, there was a joke about how Sister Marie could crack open a palm kernel with her buttocks and this translated to her nickname “Bum Nut Cracker”. When she finally got to know guess who she blamed as the orchestrator, Agbenorxevi. It was not as though he was not the culprit some of the things he was accused of, but it just got to a point that trying to prove his innocence was as useless as a gift of chewing stick to a toothless old lady. And so, just as Christians attribute everything evil to the devil, everything that went wrong in the orphanage was attributed to Agbenorxevi and Sister Marie was always there to do justice with her punishment.

At age sixteen he was booted out of the orphanage because he was considered a bad influence on the younger ones and based on the fact that he was standing his grounds. Armed with 7000 cedis that he was given by the other Sisters, he dragged himself with his back pack that contained a pair of Khaki shorts and an over-sized Lacoste he had received the previous year as Christmas present out of the opharnage into an unknown world. And so his life of crime and double crossing began after he was robbed off his personal belongings and was forced to join the notorious ‘Kpetonku’ gang and it was based on his exploits the he was named ‘The Cat’ . A name revered the people in the ghettos within Ho. As the vehicle got closer to the sign post that read ‘Welcome to HO’, Agbenorxevi became conscious of his surroundings, let out a heavy sigh and made the sign of the cross as the vehicle veered into the town. In his heart and mind, he knew only God would save him from what lay before him…

 

 

 
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Posted by on July 15, 2014 in Fiction

 

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Open Letter to President Mahama.

Open Letter to President Mahama.

Dear Mr. President,

Well for formality sake, let me just ask how you are doing before I proceed. I hope Lordina is keeping her promise of serving you a sumptuous bowl of Tuo Zafi and dawadawa soup every Wednesday evening as she promised to when you became President. To be honest with you I won’t say we’ve not met before and for your information, I have always admired you from afar as a celebrity. Oooh yes, a Politician celebrity. It even got to a time I was thinking of asking you to represent Ghana at the big brother house but decided against it knowing the temptations that abound in that house. I really hope you do not mind me calling you John or any other pet name I deem very necessary to keep the conversation flowing. I know by now you are beginning to wonder why at all I decided to write you this letter but don’t worry, I’m not one of you detractors. I’m writing this letter to actually say thank you for being yourself and for doing what you are doing.

Jonny boy, I get very livid when I hear people say you are not a good leader. What do they expect? This is actually what they get for not learning from their mistakes. After all, by now they should know that, the fact that the Zongo he- goat has a beard does not make it a contender for the chief Mallam position. If the people willingly make the He –goat the Mallam because of its beard then they must be ready to chew cassava leaves. Today, they say electricity, tomorrow they’ll say water, yesterday it was fuel. What at all do they want you to do before they realize that you lead a listening government? I know that as for the listening you are really doing that, it is just that you are not sure of what to do so you end up doing nothing at all.

Jonny just this week, some friends of mine were annoyed that you did not fire Elvis and Yamin for the Black Stars fiasco in Brazil. Me I just laughed ooh. If they know what you see especially when you put those your spectacles on, they wouldn’t even bother. Fine boy things no be ‘gidigidi’ ooh. Have they forgotten so soon that you are the only president in the history of our country that has an individual who is an institution on her own working for you? Do they know the value of one ‘tsoboe’ by Elvis during your campaign period? Were we not all here when Samini was charging GHC 2000 for shooting one ‘kpoe’ at musical events? Now to the issue of Yamin, after Rawlings, how often have we seen what the NDC World Bank calls ‘Yevu du agba’ say things on National Television that draws intense national discourse and goes international? As a concerned big brother, I know you didn’t want Yamin to look bad that is why you released the jet and the money to ‘Bryzil’. This is a simple boys boys move that I feel everyone should understand. Errrhm my only worry is that I hear there is an unaccounted for 1.2 million. Abeg I be your boy so make I know something when the time to share comes.

 

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Yesterday I realized that Ghanaians are very wicked people. Why are they crying foul on this issue of part of a loan being used for sanitary pads? Look Jonny boy, I agree with you, we must give sanitary pads to school girls! It’s a matter of life and death! Their futures depend on it! Mind you the pads will be imported and the GFA boss Kwasi Nyantakyi will be in charge of airlifting it with support from Elvis and Yamin! If they like they should go and burn the korle lagoon. Have they not realized that up until now our young girls in SHS have been using ‘amonsin’? They need to use pads, no, they will use pads. Now this is QUALITY GIRL CHILD EDUCATION. But Jonny Boy, kindly make sure that in the next loan, allocation is made for free champion condoms distribution for University boys or you go do boxer shorts instead? Our Better Ghana Agenda is on the right path and I encourage you not to mind our detractors. . By the way, are we importing Yazz or Always sanitary pads? Please let’s make sure they come with free pantie liners too and deodorants. I will only charge three percent commission for this advise.

 

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Jonny my guy, be for I end this letter, there is one huge favor I need to ask you. In fact you’ll make me the happiest Ghanaian if you do this for me and I won’t mind if you tax everything including my flatulence. Please and please can you please give ministerial appointments to Allotey Jacob, Sam George, Richard Quarshigah and Nii Lantey Vanderpujey. These are individuals who speak and I know that what they say is not revealed to them by flesh and blood but by a ‘higher force’ I cannot and indeed most Ghanaians cannot contend with. I believe once they become an integral part of your ministerial appointees, you are sorted. The likes of Ablakwa and Fifii Kwetey are backsliding but I believe buy the time we get into the election mood their ‘spirituality’ will be revived. By the way say hi to Vicky for me the next time you meet. I will really love to get a reply from you but I know you’ll be too busy to reply so kindly just acknowledge receipt of this letter.

Your own Concerned Countryman.

Efo Koku Gator.

 
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Posted by on July 3, 2014 in ARTICLES

 

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My Chronicles 3 (Life of a battered young woman)

My Chronicles 3 (Life of a battered young woman)

PASTOR FRED.

Its crazy how writing about my story with Pastor Fred bothers me a lot but this is a major chapter in my life that I need not over look because at the end of the day, it is my prayer that any of you who finds yourself in this kind of situation will at least know that you are neither the first nor the last to experience this. I have read most of your reactions and I know what most of you feel for me is neither sympathy nor pity. Most of you feel I’m stupid to allow myself go through all these things just like my mother did and there is no way I hold these against you. Somehow, her experiences made her more inclined towards the belief that her problems and my problems in relation to men was more spiritual that psychological hence her decision to introduce to Pastor Fred. Our relationship started out like a lost sheep and a caring shepherd who had found the once priced sheep in the most devastating state and trying everything within his power to restore the sheep to its past glory. With the zeal I was working with in the house of the lord, the Church snatched me up to groom me into a wife, teach me ministry etiquette, and give me face time with my pastor so I could “counsel” with him and make sure my decisions were ran through him before I did anything major in life.

To be frank, Fred was a rock star of a growing church…worshipped by many. He came from a gambling and petty background that fed his appetite for the carnal things according to him. He got “saved” and sought a leadership position and was a very talented guy who rose through the ranks quickly. He was very comfortable in the spotlight and extremely charismatic and he actually seemed like a nice guy on the surface though some have reported he can be a jerk…but so can we all at times. Normally I would not date a baldhead man who had a potbelly, which was competing with his head for attention but getting to know (at least that’s what I thought) him more made his body structure the least of my worries. He has this fashion sense that was on point and very admirable. Most often in my conversations with him, he’d tell me how he felt very blessed and privileged to be ‘saved’ just like certain Bishops and Arch Bishops who had similar backgrounds as his. And most often than not, there was this eternal glow that came from within him and shone in his eyes when he talked about his dream of becoming on of the top Pastors in the country.

Gradually our relationship developed into one of admiration and affection towards each other and since he was not married it felt prudent to start a relationship that will lead to marriage. The initial idea was to practice a no sex before marriage but as ‘body no be firewood’ so we found ourselves shagging left right and center like a maracas in the hands of a charismatic praises leader. At church it was an open secret that Pastor Fred and I were dating and this drew its fair share of admiration and envy but to me this was the life I felt God was preparing me for. Little did I know that there was a huge catch to this when he was exposed hiding behind the veneer that he was something he wasn’t.

It started one Sunday afternoon. I had gone to his place to prepare him lunch and supper as had become the ritual. Half way through preparing the foods I heard a knock on the door. I left everything I was doing, went to open the door only to see an angry looking at the door. When I told her he was not yet back from church after she enquired about his whereabouts, then she half shoved me out of the way as she made her way towards the bedroom. I was confused. Who was this? Was this a family member I did not know? Was this a test to see how humble or rude I was? Ten minutes afterwards Fred came home from church and before I could report to him he speed off to the bedroom. What I saw when I entered the bedroom was indeed more than a shock. Here was Fred on his knees begging the lady for forgiveness and the only response he got were to heavy slaps on both cheeks. When I rushed to defend him, he smacked me on the face and asked that I leave the room. The lady went into the kitchen and dumped all the food I was preparing into the dustbin and walked out. I will later on discover that this was a lady Fred had promised marriage, duped and dumped just two months into our relationship after he verbally assaulted me for coming to his rescue. He called me worthless, stupid, an animal that deserved no mercy and in some instances found a way of even insulting me in his preaching. During mid week service after this incident, told the congregation that the Lord had given him directives that the President of the Youth Ministry, me was to do dry fasting for two weeks in anticipation of a fruitful youth week celebration since as the leader, I needed to be sanctified and holy to lead ‘my people’ during that period.

The straw that broke ‘this camel’s’ back was when he called me an idiot in front of other church members for disagreeing with him on a program line up for the youth ministry of which I was the President. When this was raised at a church leadership meeting he charmed his way out of the truth. In some weird twisted way, the other leaders got sprinkled with fairy dust and it blinded them, and I was deemed as crazy, grabbing for attention, and trying to tear down God’s work.  Certain people who I held in high esteem and confided in them will later on betray me by concocting lies about me to the extent that one Sunday half way through his preaching he stopped and said that the spirit of the lord had directed him to break up with me and also demote me as the president of the youth ministry. According to him there were some ancestral demons that were working through me to bring down the church and that I needed prayers. I was hauled by three strong ushers for the whole church to pray for me when I refused to come forward for prayers when he demanded I do so. After this, I consulted a lawyer friend of mine who agreed to sue Pastor Fred and the church for abuse on my behalf. When the affidavit was served them they went to see my mother to ask me to drop the charges with the promise of reinstating me as a member of the church, president of the youth ministry and fiancée Fred. I found this to be very laughable and told my mother to go tell them that they could offer me the whole world; I would still go ahead to sue them. When the saw that I was not barging, they counter sued me for financial malfeasance and fabricated stories on how I had duped some members of the church. As I write this, the cases are still in court and they do not look like winning anything. Next week I’ll tell you about how everything changed for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on April 11, 2014 in Fiction

 

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My Chronicles 2 (Life of a battered Young Woman)

My Chronicles 2 (Life of a battered Young Woman)

JAMES.

There are times you need to check the pieces of your life and tick some off as mistakes that should have never occurred and this chapter is one of them. Anytime I think about my relationship with James, I do not know whether to curse him or curse the day I allowed him into my life. I met James during the first half of the first semester of my first year in the University. Now, Ideally he wasn’t the one I wanted to date. I had wanted to date Eric a colleague, but Eric was also interested in Sitso my now best friend. Since I couldn’t have Eric, I decided to make sure that he also didn’t get to date Sitso by telling her lies how Eric had confided in me that the only reason he had befriended her was to get into her pants and dump her later. Up till now I still can’t believe she swallowed it line, hook and sinker because Eric was and is still just an adorable cool, calm and collected guy who would place anyone’s happiness above his when he deeply cared about the person. These days I see how Sitso struggles with her relationships and I wish I just didn’t separate her from Eric. Well, enough of the regrets. Let me continue with the James story. James was a year ahead of us and like any ‘adventurous guy, plunged himself into the whole ‘September rush’ thing. His initial target had swerved him so he fell on his back up plan ‘me’. The initial idea was to drain him of some cash by pretending I was interested because the school fees was expensive and I had to struggle for my upkeep in school. James however unlike me, comes from a well to do home and being the first child and only boy, his parents made sure he had virtually everything he wanted. We were friends for a couple of weeks and then he started taking me out to dinners and social events and out of the blues proposed to me. I told him I needed time to think about it and he agreed to give me time to do so. One day as early as 3:00 the strumming of a guitar outside our door woke my roommate and I up. We looked at each other confused as to who would be playing a guitar right outside our door at that time of the night. Then he began to sing Brandy’s ‘Have you ever’. In all honesty if Brandy had sang the song the way he sang it, it would have made absolutely no sale but the mere fact that he thought of an idea of singing to me at dawn and not caring if he woke up the whole hostel, sent a sweet sensation down my spine. I got out of bed smiling like a lunatic set free from the asylum, unlocked the door and planted a fat kiss on his lips that germinated into a yell of joy that attracted some cusses and insults from sleepy mouths.

The first month of our relationship was like a honeymoon. I was served breakfast in bed and treated like a real lady then it began to the envy of most of my other female colleagues. The sex was great too. I mean the kind that had your toes curl and tingle just by thinking about it. He did know how to make me come in many ways that one. On weekends we will visit his parents or younger sister and boy oooh boy did the love to have me around. During the second month things changed drastically. He warned me about getting close to any other guy at the hostel and that apart from his room I was not to go into any other guy’s room. At first I thought it was a joke but when he refused to eat the supper I had prepared for him but rather dumped it with the plate into the dustbin because he saw me coming out of Eric’s room I knew he was serious. There was this particular night that together with some other guys including Eric, they decided to go out for two parties they had been invited for. Around mid-night the whole hostel was up because on their way to the hostel James had picked a fight with Kwabena saying he suspected Kwabena was flirting with me. It had gotten to that point where if Eric had not practically dragged Kwabena away there was going to be a bout. That was when I discovered that anytime James had some alcohol his mental faculty switched to crazy mood. The next morning he left the hostel without a word to me and I thought he just needed some space to clear his mind. Around noon I was in my room when I heard a drunk James screaming my name on the corridor.

‘Gina Gina your whore, idiot! You think you can play with my heart eeerh? Today I teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.’

I rushed and locked my door. He tried to open the door but when he realized it was lock started banging on it and screaming

‘ Herh! Open this door right now if you do not want more trouble. I break this door oooh! Ashawo!’

I was so embarrassed all I could do was sit on my bed with my head between my thighs and weep. True to his words he broke down the door and with his belt in his hands, he gave me the beating of a lifetime. When he was exhausted. He half picked himself up and left the room. Now I know you are asking yourself whether there was no one apart from us at the hostel. Well there were others there, and they refused to come and stop him because I had stopped talking to most of them when they tried to warn me about James. Later that evening Sitso came from home to visit me. Well I do not know whether someone called to inform her of what James had done to me but one look at me and she decided it would be better if I follow her home so she could take care of me. I ended up spending a week at Sitso place and she advised that I end the relationship with James. When I got back to the hostel, I realized my door had been fixed, my bed sheet and curtains changed and a new laptop on my bed. I knew he was the one who had done all these so I packed everything and sent them to his room. He was out of the hostel and it was only his roommate who was there and so I poured the things on his bed and left him a note that I wanted to have nothing doing with him again.

For the next two weeks he was constantly begging me to forgive him, and that he didn’t know why he did what he did but no amount of begging was going to make me go back. Then he felt sick shortly and got admitted to the hospital and his mother came to plead with me to at least visit him since she suspected he wasn’t getting any better because of me. Out of respect for the mother, I agreed to visit him at the hospital, he said he would kill himself if I leave him, promised to be of great behavior and as it will turn out I found myself in his arms again. Everything was going on well then it got to a time the sex really began to suck. We will caress each other and set the mood, then he will undress me and stare at my body for long and tell me he was not in the mood. There were times he would shove things into my vagina all in the name of us being adventurous sexually and film these. Though I was not really comfortable with all of these, I partook in them all in the name of love and hoping it would revive his sex drive, at least that was what I thought. Then one day, I caught him having sex with another lady in his room. When I confronted him, he said left to him alone, he would not have sex with me because I stink and sealed it off with a sound beating. I cried the whole night and it got to a point I felt my eyes were going to fall out of their sockets and decided he wasn’t worth it. I called his mother to inform her that I had ended the relationship with her son because I could no longer take the abuse and then she came to visit me the next day.

She told me that men will always be men and that if I loved her son, I should stick by him no matter what he does to me because she knew he really loved me. That was when I realized her husband treated her the same way her son was treating me. I apologized to her and told her, I’ve had my fair share of abusive relationships and wanted a man who would treat me right. I told her that her son had filmed some of our sexual escapades and threatened to put them on the internet if I broke up with him but if she really loved her son she would advise him not to try that since there would be dire consequences. With this she stood up hugged me and left. The last time I checked, James is in Australia and married with two kids and has not yet killed himself because I left him. Next week I’ll tell you about Pastor Fred.

 
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Posted by on April 3, 2014 in Fiction

 

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